Lost and Found in Shanghai

Shanghai's Scallion Oil Noodles

There’s a certain freedom in traveling alone, especially when the focus is food. Sure, you can’t order as many dishes, but you can eat as many meals as you want. And, more importantly, you get to decide exactly where to eat. No debates, no compromises - just you, your appetite, and a city full of possibilities.

Shanghai is overwhelming in the best way. Michelin-starred restaurants sit next to glowing storefronts with all kinds of unfamiliar delicacies. Street carts sizzle late into the night, food markets spill over with energy, and signs practically screaming at you to come in and eat. I even walked past what I thought was an aquarium full of jellyfish, only to realize it was where you picked them to eat! That’s a story for another time.

The Noodle Hunt Begins

On one of my first nights, my hotel recommended a tiny noodle shop. No one spoke English, so I was given nothing but an address. That was it. No name, no landmark; just a vague promise of good noodles.

It took me four tries to find it. I kept walking past the small, unassuming alley where it was tucked away, doubting whether I was in the right place. Finally, skeptically, I turned down the narrow lane and spotted the address. It looked less like a restaurant and more like someone’s house. Limited signage, no menu, just a small doorway that led into a tiny space with four tables.

I pulled out my phone, showed a picture of the noodles I wanted. The woman at the counter nodded, punched numbers into a calculator to show me the price, and motioned for me to sit.

Ten minutes later, it arrived.

The First Bite

A steaming bowl of Bái zhī cōng yóu ròu sī bàn miàn (白汁葱油肉丝拌面) aka scallion oil noodles with shredded pork, sat in front of me. Topped with crispy fried onions and a mountain of golden brown pork, with a small bowl of milky, translucent broth on the side.

I took my first bite, and my mind raced to grasp the harmony of flavours. The noodles had the perfect chewy bounce, the fried onions crackled, the pork was crispy on the outside yet impossibly tender. Then came the broth; unassuming, almost too simple to be this good, its depth of flavour warming me from the inside out. And in the bitter January cold, that warmth hit differently. It was comfort in a bowl, the kind of meal that resets your body and soul.

No noodles have lived up to it since.

The place is called Ding Te Le, and what I ordered is Shanghai’s ultimate scallion oil noodles. It’s one of those dishes that doesn’t try too hard, yet somehow leaves a permanent mark.

I still think about that bowl. I still compare every noodle dish to it. And honestly? I’m just counting down the days until I can fly back to Shanghai and eat it again.

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Not all those who wander are lost - some of us are just looking for the best bowl of noodles!

Ankita

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